


And You Say Life is Bitter Sweet

by Mistiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:50:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistiel/pseuds/Mistiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it is, he just wants to be alone right now. [Spoilers for 5x22's end]</p>
            </blockquote>





	And You Say Life is Bitter Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing anything Supernatural related, after having marathoned all 6 seasons. I wrote this a day after watching the S5 ending.

  
_'still I wonder, who'll stop the rain'_   


  


The drive to Lisa's begins long and more than a little difficult, given recent events, but he continues on down the dark roads ahead. It's well past midnight and Cas' dropped in more than once during the trip, scaring the ever living shit out of him each time that nearly has him veering off the road and cursing, shooting wild glares at the silent angel in the passenger seat of the Impala. And truthfully, if he wasn’t so messed up right now he might’ve enjoyed the angels company. As it is, he just wants to be alone right now.

And each time he asks Dean if he's alright, and for an angel -- for Cas -- it sounds almost like concern. Almost. And of course he's okay, mother fucking peachy keen. Why wouldn't he be? It's not like he just lost his brother to Lucifer and the Pit or anything.

Except that, oh wait, he _did_.

His hands grip the steering wheel, feeling the leather of it rub against his fingers as he tries not to think about it, not while he's driving. He knows he'll break if he does, and he can't do that now. Not now, not yet. The only reason he hasn't run himself off the road before now is because he promised. Not even the fact it would mean smashing up his baby, the Impala, stops him from thinking it.

An idle thought crosses his head and he wonders whether he would go to heaven or hell. If he went to hell, would he see Sammy there? He can't deny it doesn't tempt him, at least a little bit.

But he promised Sam, even if it feels like he doesn't want to keep it. Like he just wants to curl up and go to sleep and never fucking wake up, never deal with the fact that Sam's gone. For good. No getting him back with kiss-laden deals, freaky voodoo witchcraft -- fucking witches, he hates witches -- or black magic. No, not this time.

And for a split second his indifferent facade cracks, unable to stop the suddenness of it, hand slamming against the wheel repeatedly, whuffing out a soft breath and sucking it back in as he regains control of himself and white knuckles the wheel again to keep driving.

Dean doesn't want to believe Sam is gone, not really. Not ever. He wants to look over and see the giant hulk of a young man asleep and curled against the passenger door, breathing evenly and soft and just barely loud enough to hear over the quiet hum of old rock coming from the radio. His lips quirk just a bit as he imagines himself blasting the radio to scare the shit out of him, as he's done so many times before.

And won't ever do again.

His eyes tear up suddenly and he has to blink several times in a row to clear his vision, to keep from looking to his right where his little brother should be. His hands start to hurt with how tight he's gripping the wheel. It's his anchor now, what keeps him going now that Sam isn't here.

Sam was his anchor, was what kept him grounded. Everything was for Sam, and only Sam. His brother was the last tether to this earth he had, the one true thing his world revolved around. He hadn't realized it until then, back in the cemetery, long after Bobby and Cas had gone, how utterly lost he was without Sam.

Lost and alone in a world without Sam, his brother, his precious little Sammy.

It's over, he thinks idly, hits him suddenly, as he drives. And he's done, no more. No more fighting. He doesn't have the drive for it anymore. Sam plucked it from him the moment he fell back into that big, bottomless, gaping hole in the ground. Maybe _this_ is what Hell really is. A life without Sam.

Dean finds her place easy enough, remembering the route he took to get here the last time, and deep down he knows it's because he promised, and it's the one promise to Sam he vows to keep, not because he wants to. Not really. He just doesn't have anywhere left to go.

It isn't until he's at Lisa's that he lets himself fall apart. Wrapped in her warm, soft embrace he sobs brokenly, with breath hitching and choked he rasps quiet against her neck.

 _'Sam', 'Sammy', 'I'm so sorry'._

Over and over again, until it's not even words anymore but the soft unintelligible sound of everything falling to pieces.


End file.
